


Clarity

by WahlBuilder



Series: Fang and Claw [1]
Category: The Technomancer (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Hand Jobs, M/M, Painplay, Vampire Bites
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 06:56:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17741048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder
Summary: A good hunter should know everything about their prey. Viktor is a very, very good hunter, and when he can't get a clear reason why some people describe being bitten as painful, but others say it feels very pleasant, he decides to conduct an experiment himself.





	Clarity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Haaska](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haaska/gifts).



> I can't get out of this trash bin, and neither would you.

He always wondered why some victims described their encounters with the leeches not in terms of pain, but in terms of pleasure. Moreover, some of them seek repeated encounters, go willingly. Some even attacked him when he dragged a leech away from them.

At the same time, other victims clearly describe it as painful, horrific, a violation — if they even can speak about it at all.

Does it depend on a particular leech? Their age, their origins? Maybe it’s something to do with the hypnotism some leeches develop? Or perhaps it’s something chemical, something in their saliva that provides a sort of drugging effect on the victim? Does it depend on the victim?

The works of his predecessors do note such encounters and accounts, but, just like him, Viktor’s colleagues of the past and present only speculate. Maybe it’s a multitude of things.

So it is only logical that he should try it himself. It will be educational from many standpoints: he can try to determine the origins of that peculiar effect, and he can test how well he can fight off a vampire who’s leeching off him.

It is only logical to choose Anton for that experiment. Anton Rogue — or whatever his original name is — is an old, mature vampire, so he wouldn’t be sloppy with his prey, and if that ecstatic effect is tied to a leech’s abilities, he most likely can provide it. He is an effective leech, which means, he isn’t starving and he wouldn’t kill Viktor in his crazed hunger. Viktor has been hunting him for five years, but hasn’t met him properly even once, so it would be a way to do so.

Of course, the Order wouldn’t be pleased if he made a small deal with a leech… But everyone has to make certain deals once in a while, and the brass don’t have to know.

It takes him a while to prepare everything, to track Anton down. And then, Viktor goes to the back alley by the hideout he’s certain Anton occupies, rolls up his sleeve and slashes his forearm. Then he lights a cigarette, leaning on the brick wall, and it’s just a matter of waiting.

There’s a half of his cigarette left when he feels a gaze. “It is impolite to stare,” he notes, and turns. Slowly.

Anton is outlined in the alley, a dark shape with an orange streetlight behind. Viktor knows it’s him, has seen him from afar enough times to know his height, the shape of his shoulders covered with a leather jacket, the shape of his skull. His gait when he moves.

And Anton has caught his scent, no doubt: his eyes reflect light in the darkness, red-yellow, like a cat’s.

“It is impolite to play with a hunter,” Anton says. Viktor realizes he’s never heard the leech’s voice before, and it is surprisingly pleasant. Must be one of those tricks.

“I’m not playing. I have a business proposition, Mr. Rogue.”

The leech moves closer, and fangs flash. “Oh? And I’m interested in it why, Mr. Watcher?”

Viktor takes his time putting the cigarette out. His slashed arm is stinging. “I want you to bite me.”

Anton laughs. It’s a dry laugh. “Are you all right, Mr. Watcher?”

“I have my reasons,” Viktor explains patiently. “I would like you to feed off me — though without draining me completely. You get… sustenance. You don’t lose anything.”

“And what would stop me from drinking you dry?” There is playfulness in the tone, but Anton flashes his fangs again in an unmistakable threat.

“Fifteen centimeters of silver between your ribs,” Viktor says evenly. The dagger is secured behind his lower back.

The grin fades. “You really want it.”

“I do. As I said, I have my reasons, and they are not your concern. Just tell me whether you’d do it.”

“Why me?”

“I can trust your self-control.”

Anton stuffs his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. Looking at him, one wouldn’t even think he’s a several hundred years old vampire.

“You’ve been hunting my clan. You’ve killed quite a lot of my people.”

“And you’ve killed my hunters.”

And now they are here, talking without trying to kill each other. The world makes no sense.

Silence thickens. Viktor pulls up a mental list of other leeches he can proposition…

“All right. I’ll do it.”

He blinks. Is it so easy? He holds out his slashed arm. He wonders what it is going to be like, the pain, the touch of cold lips…

“Here, Mr. Watcher?”

“Won’t take long, I assume, so why wait.”

Anton steps to him and takes his hand, a frown on his face. Up close, his eyes seem normal, he _looks_ normal — even though there is a sense of danger coming off him, too. The duality is pulling at Viktor, makes him ache for the feeling of his sword and his gun in his hands.

“Certain, Mr. Watcher?” It streams off Anton’s tongue like a taunt, like a…

Strange that a leech would ask that. “Yes.”

He braces himself for pain — but the shock is of Anton’s wet and _warm_ tongue licking over the slash on his forearm. Anton makes a long way up to his elbow, and Viktor sees his pupils expand. Then Anton looks up at him, fangs wet and white, holding his hand in a tight grip, and another hand presses on the nape of Viktor’s neck, pulling him down.

Anton nuzzles his throat. “You smell so good.”

It sends shivers down Viktor’s spine. He has to stay in control, he has to fight the strange rush of warmth. He tilts his head to the shoulder, opening (offering) his throat, can’t decide where to put his hands…

Teeth — fangs — scrape over his skin — and then Anton _bites_.

It is such a sharp needle of pain, so hot, the entire world collapsed into it, to that point, that…

He groans, the sound coming from his core, and it bounces through the alley, and he doesn’t care because heat fills his body, held on that needlepoint of pain.

 _“Oh, you like it, sweet thing,”_ Anton purrs, somehow into his ear and in his head both, and Anton laps at his skin and licks the tendons on his neck — and presses a thigh between Viktor’s legs, and Viktor claws at the leather jacket and rocks against Anton’s hip.

“Fuck you,” he has the mind to breath out, and another moan tears out of his throat when fangs worry the fresh wounds open again, fitting perfectly, sending hot coal-sparks through his body down to his _nails_.

_“I have an impression that you’d rather have it the other way around. Not now, perhaps.”_

A hand is pulling his shirt out of his pants, nails — claws — stroking his stomach.

“Yes?” a breath ghosts over his neck.

“Yes,” he sighs. Yes, yes…

The fingers on his cock are an afterthought — because Anton sinks his fangs into his throat _again_. It’s such an exquisite pain that it seems endless, burning him to cinders, grinding him until there is nothing left.

He gets aware of the universe around him only when Anton leans back, one hand on Viktor’s waist, and licks his soiled fingers clean. “You are delicious all over, hunter,” Anton purrs. His eyes are nearly black, and his mouth is dark with…

Oh.

Viktor can barely stand upright. Heavy pleasure is like a blanket over his body — but his mind aches for that sharp pleasure-pain that is already fading, leaving only a vague memory. The air cools his neck where Anton…

He reaches up and strokes his throat. There are tiny puckered puncture wounds. He looks at his fingers, but they are clean, if damp.

A hand strokes his side (he suppresses a shiver, overly sensitive). “Don’t worry. I didn’t want to ruin your shirt, so I tried to not make a mess.”

He look at Anton again — just when Anton’s tongue darts out to lick a spot of… of Viktor’s blood off his bottom lip.

Viktor looks down, briefly. Then up again.

Anton rolls his shoulders, his gaze flicking away, pulls his jacket down, even though it’s too short to hide… the effect all this has on him. “Have you gotten what you wanted, Mr. Watcher?” His voice is lower, the purr still not gone from it. It’s like a caress.

Viktor tries to get a grip on himself. “I’m… not entirely certain, Mr. Rogue.” He swallows — his throat _stings_ — and he swallows again, just to feel it once more.

Anton shrugs, rocks on his heels. “Think on it, then. We can repeat as many times as you want until you are perfectly,” a flash of those fangs again, “satisfied. It is business, after all, and deals should be honored. Take care.”

Anton vanishes in the darkness, leaving Viktor to lean on the wall and think on what has just happened.

Perhaps… Anton is right. There needs to be another experiment conducted. For the sake of clarity.


End file.
